


History Unwritten

by orphan_account



Series: History [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Mourning, Sad, alternate ending to a previous fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 17:29:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would have happened if Thorin and his nephews hadn't survived the battle in Writing History</p><p>Ori has lost the love of his life<br/>Dis has lost what was left of her family<br/>sometimes, that's enough to bring people together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	History Unwritten

**Author's Note:**

> during the entire time I wrote Writing History, I was tempted to go canon... but then, i thought it'd be cruel.  
> Still, the idea wouldn't leave me.

It was Dwalin who came to him after the battle to tell him that Thorin was greatly injured, that he might not see the light of another day. It was Dwalin who took him to the tent where the king lay, and forced the healers to allow him inside.

Thorin had his eyes closed when he arrived, but as soon as Ori took his hands, he opened them and smiled weakly.

“And here you are, master Ori,” he whispered. “I am so glad you made it out of this mess unhurt. I am so sorry for having dragged you in this, it was wrong of me.”

“You keep saying that,” the scribe answered, squeezing his hand lightly. “But I still don't have any regrets. I'd have followed you to the end of the world.”

“But you stopped following me... in the mountain...”

“You weren't _you_ , then. You are now. So I'll stay by your side, as long as you will allow it.”

“Until the end then,” Thorin commanded, his voice barely a breath. “Stay with me until the end, that is my only wish. You should be free again soon enough.”

Ori nodded, fighting tears, and kissed his brow.

“Until the end, my king.”

They didn't talk again after that.

Ori was there as the healers fought to save his king, and he was there when they thought of giving up. He was there when Bilbo was brought in, and when Thorin gave him his forgiveness and his friendship. He was there when his king closed his eyes, and their burglar left in tears.

He was there all along, and his hand never left Thorin's, not even when he his eyes closed, never to open again, not even the hand in his became cold and hard, like ice against his skin.

His king was dead.

One of many who had fallen that day.

* * *

 

Ori went to the funeral, of course. He couldn't not have gone. It was his final goodbye to Thorin, and he had to be there. For his book. For his tale of a king he had followed across the world, and would have followed further away if he'd had to.

Thorin had gone to the only place he couldn't follow.

But he would at least get his ending right, so he looked, observed, memorized, every detail, the colour of people's clothes, who cried and who didn't, who had come and who would tell the story to those too badly hurt to come.

He watched, and when everything was over he found a place to hide and wrote down everything, drew everything, until he passed out from exhaustion.

Before doing the same thing the following day. And the one after. And the one after.

It lasted for a week, with Dori or Nori bringing him food and water, never saying a thing. There was nothing to be said.

But after a week, Dain's coronation happened.

It was a shock.

It made it all real, somehow.

Thorin was gone. So were Fili and Kili.

He had lost the dwarf he loved, and his two best friends, and all that for some stupid gold, and a mountain that he didn't care about now that his king was dead.

That was the first day he cried.

That was also the day he tried to burn his book, because it was all so pointless now. He'd done the damn thing for Thorin, just for him, as the declaration of love he'd thought he'd never get to say aloud. So he'd thrown it in a fire, in spite of his brother's cries, and he'd left to find something to do, something useful.

Writing wasn't useful.

Writing didn't save people.

Writing wasn't useful.

* * *

 

Dain tried to give them all important position in Erebor, once they were done dealing with the aftermath of the battle. They were heroes after all, and he having their support could only help him. They all accepted, if only because it gave them something to do.

It was the worse, maybe. This feeling of emptiness, after having done so much.

At least it was for Ori. He didn't write nor draw anymore, because there was no point, but he had found nothing to replace it. Dain had tried to put him in charge of the library, with only Balin as his superior, since he was too young to manage it all on his own, but the young dwarf had refused. He couldn't even stand to look at books.

Books did nothing.

Books were useless.

Dain put him in a committee with Dori and Bofur instead, who were in charge of the return of the exiles. It was a huge task that kept them busy at all times. They had to count how many houses had been damaged by the dragon and the years, how much time it would take to repair them, how much the caravans to bring people from Ered Luin would cost, how many guards they would need, how many people would be able to pay for their own trip and how many would have to be helped...

It was dry, and boring, and painfully down to earth.

It was exactly what Ori had needed.

He spent his days and nights doing it, until one morning, he came to work and discovered that this was no longer necessary.

Three years had passed already, and most of the exiles were back.

Ori had no idea that so much time had passed. He’d barely done anything but work and sleep, refusing to even appear at any of the feasts he’d been invited to, refusing to see the few friends from Ered Luin who had tried to see him. He hadn’t even realized that Gimli, good old Gimli, was in Erebor now, and so was the lady Dis.

It was more difficult to avoid them now that he didn’t have a job to use as an excuse, but he still managed. There were people he might have agreed to see, but not them, never them. He couldn’t see Gimli, not when the boy had shared his games with Fili and Kili sometimes. He could not see the lady Dis, not when she was so much like her brother but would never be him.

But as it turned out, what one wanted mattered little, even if people called you a hero, when it contradicted the wishes of a princess of Erebor.

She sent Dwalin and Nori to him, with the order to bring Ori to her, willing or not. And he hated them for it, but they seemed determined to obey. He just followed them. Fighting back or trying to escape would have required more energy than he had for anything these days.

The lady Dis looked far, far older than he remembered her to be. She’d been a beautiful dwarrowdam, but now she looked... faded. Broken. And she was, of course. She’d lost what little family she had left. Ori wondered what it’d feel like to lose his brothers, only to realize that he probably wouldn’t care. Caring was too exhausting.

“I thank you for finally finding the time to come have tea with me,” Dis politely claimed, motioning for Dwalin and Nori to leave them alone. “I understand you’ve been busy?”

Ori shrugged, and sat silently in the chair she indicated to him.

“My cousin tells me you have done a wonderful job in making things ready for the return of the exiles,” the princess said, serving him a cup of tea. “He has nothing but praises for you, and so do all the people I have asked about you. You are a very appreciated dwarf, master Ori.”

He shrugged again.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I took the pain of learning about you, master Ori?”

“You’ll tell me if you want to, you won’t tell me if you don’t want to tell me.”

“Appreciated, but rather gloomy. They had warned me, but I did not realize it was quite so bad. Though I should have expected it. You are, after all, the only of our dear heroes to never appear at any feast or any public event.”

“Not the only one.”

He heard the slight catch of her breath, but refused to look at her, instead glaring at the floor.

“You are the only one who could still come and doesn’t,” Dis corrected, barely containing the pain her voice. “And yet, you are the one everyone most want to hear. You were the scribe, you knew the story, you should be telling it, not... hiding in corners and playing the accountant.”

Ori shrugged once more. “I’ve burned my notes. There is nothing to say.”

“You tried to burn them, master Ori, that is not the same. Thankfully, you have a brother with more sense than you, who managed to save your book.”

“Dori should have let it burnt.”

“Dori would have”, she replied. “I’m talking of your other brother. A most fascinating dwarf, Nori. Do you know your book was his first gift to me when I arrived in the mountain? He seemed to think it would let me know everything I needed to know about your quest. He was right. It felt almost as if I had been there with my sons, sharing the good moments and the bad... I read it and I was there, master Ori.”

The young dwarf didn’t answer. It sounded as if the idea of feeling like she’d been there made her happy, and he could not understand that. Not when he had been there and seen it all. Not when this quest had almost given him everything he’d ever wanted, only to take it away for ever.

“You cared for my sons a great deal, didn’t you?” she said softly. “I remember the three of you playing sometimes, back at home...”

“They were my friends, my lady,” he cut her. “But I do not wish to talk about them.”

“You were their friend, and you were with them when I could not. You will tell me about them. Think of it as a present for an old dwarrowdam who doesn’t have much left.”

He should have refused. Just thinking of Fili and Kili made his stomach twist in the worst of ways. But Dis, just like her brother, was not a dwarf to whom anything could be refused, and so Ori started talking.

That first day, he talked about their jokes, the happy moments, and how they had all dreadfully teased poor mister Baggins at first.

The second day, he told her about how heroic her sons had been, describing their fights against the goblins and the trolls.

The third day was for Azog (but he didn’t have much to say about that, and even Dis’s orders couldn’t overcome the sickness he felt whenever he recalled the tree and the fall) and Beorn’s wonderful house (and he cried there, recalling that night by the fire, and Thorin’s lips on his in the morning)

The fourth day was for Mirkwood and the elves.

The fifth and six days was a merry one, and Ori told her everything he could recall of their brief time in Laketown. He told her about the princes flirting with human girls, the songs they had invented and the dances they improvised, and Dis laughed and cried and so did Ori, but for reasons of his own.

On the seventh day, he had to talk about the mountain. He didn’t stay very long that day.

On the eighth day, he told of the battle. He didn’t cry, or feel any emotion. He only told a series of facts. Kili prepared that way, Fili this way, they had said these words, walked this way out of the mountain.

“I do not know how they died,” he announced. “I wasn’t near them during the fight. My tale end here, my lady.”

“You did not talk of my brother.”

Ori tensed. “You did not ask me to.”

“You did not even say his name, not once.”

“No, I did not.”

“They say you were with him when he died. That you held his hand as he passed.”

Ori nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak, not when he still remembered so well the feeling of that lifeless skin against his, and how hard the kings fingers had gone after a few hours...

“They say the two of you were in love, and that he had promised you marriage,” the princess claimed. “Not just any they, actually. Balin told me that.”

“He was wrong.”

The lady Dis frowned, clearly annoyed that he would contradict her, and so Ori decided to explain, much as it pained him.

“It is wrong to say we _were_ in love, because I still am. And he never promised me marriage, he only... promised that he would make promises once he would be king again.”

“I see. So you will tell me you did not know that my brother had ordered Balin to start preparing a contract for a wedding?”

That was indeed news to the young dwarf, and he asked when the king had given such an order.

It didn’t really surprise him when Dis told him it had been after the dragon had left the mountain.

Thorin hadn’t been Thorin then, and he hadn’t seen Ori as more than yet another piece of his treasure. Of course he would have decided on their marriage without asking him, because Ori’s opinion hadn’t mattered then. One didn’t ask for a thing’s opinion, and he’d been nothing more than a thing to be possessed at that time, a pretty trinket...

Sometimes, just sometimes, he remembered those few days inside the mountains, and he wondered if it hadn’t been a mercy that Thorin had died, after all.

Because if he had lived, and remained prey to the gold fever, Ori would have been forced to choose between leaving him, or giving up on what little pride he had. Neither option were appealing.

“You know, I used to despise you,” Dis announced, making Ori jump. “When I first arrived, and they told me that my brother’s whore had been the one by his side at his lasts moments... Mahal help me, I hated you. It was yet another shameful incident to further destroy our family’s reputation... A bastard, a scribe, a boy younger than his own heir... Thorin couldn’t have chosen someone worse than you.”

Well. That wasn’t quite what Ori had expected. He had thought that the princess would thank him and then send him away and leave him in peace at last. Being insulted for having dared to share his One’s last moments wasn’t part of the plan. But he fought back his tears and just clenched his fists. Whatever she could say about him and Thorin, he’d heard worse. He’d thought worse.

“I didn’t say anything about it of course,” she continued. “Talking about you, talking to you, would have given weight to the rumours, and that was the last thing I wanted. I pretended you did not exist. I wished you would die, and take with you that last stain to my brother’s honour. But others listened to the gossips, and do you know what they did?”

Ori shrugged. He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. He just wanted to go away.

“I’ve received many visits in the past few months, master Ori,” Dis claimed. “From various members of my brother’s Company. All of them claiming that there had been nothing dishonourable about your relation to Thorin, all of them asking for permission to defend both your names.”

“What?”

Dis nodded, a small smile on her lips. “They all insisted that Thorin and you had never... enjoyed the pleasure of the flesh, that you had both behaved honourably toward each other, that no one who had _seen_ the two of you together would have dared to say that he wanted you to warm his bed, that you wanted him for his power. Gloin begged for the permission to provoke in duel a dwarf who’d called you a whore... and Mahal knows he’s the most old fashioned dwarf I’ve met. Balin came to me to show me the first draft of that contract I’ve mentioned. That funny little miner, Bofur, said he could swear on the Seven Fathers that nothing improper had ever happened between you. And your brothers... your brothers brought me this, claiming that if it couldn’t convince me, nothing would.”

This, it turned out, was a book with a burnt cover that she took from the table next to her chair. Ori hadn’t really paid attention to it before, but he recognized it instantly.

It was _his_ book.

“I had destroyed it!” he gasped. Only, he hadn’t, had he? She had mentioned something about it having been saved, the first day he’d come... not that he’d really paid attention to anything that day.

“Fortunately, you only tried to,” Dis corrected, and there was something softer in her voice now. “You should not have tried to get rid of it, master Ori. You have great talent, and it would have been a shame to lose such a precious account of this quest.”

“It was for Thorin.”

He felt it explained it all. The quality of it, and his attempts to destroy it.

It had been for Thorin. It had been his best work, the very best thing he could ever have done. And it had become pointless.

“It is now for me,” Dis announced in a tone that allowed no contradiction.

“Keep it if you want, my lady.”

“No, you misunderstand me, master Ori,” she explained. “This work was a commission for my brother. He is dead now, and I am his heir. It falls to me to ensure that debts to him are repaid. Your contract to him stated that to obtain your share of the treasure, you had to write a full account of the events of his quest. This, good as it is, cannot be treated as a full account, it is nothing but a gathering of notes. I demand that you fulfill your duty and write about the quest.”

Ori stared at her in horror. “I cannot do that, my lady! Take back the gold if you want, consider the contract broken, but don’t ask me...”

“No. You will fulfill this contract, master Ori. Maybe not this very instant, but you will. Until then, you are bound to me, and will be under my orders. You may now go, but I will require that you come again tomorrow morning. I will have work to do.”

“There is nothing I could do for you, my lady!”

“I am quite sure I’ll find something. Now go. I am a busy woman, and I have other business to attend.”

Ori bowed, and left, determined to never come before her ever again.

He was back the following morning. Nori had found him hiding in a corner of their house, and had dragged him before the princess. Dis didn’t comment on the fact that his was late, or that he’d had to be forced to come to her, and instead she gave him paper, ink and a quill, and started dictating a letter. Ori thought, for a brief moment, of running away, of refusing to work. But he had nothing better to do, and he was already there anyway. He wrote her letter, took notes for her as she wondered what to do for some of the mines she now owned, and later he came with her to a meeting with some nobles.

The second day was very much the same, from Nori finding out his hiding place to the sort of tasks the lady Dis asked of him.

The third day was not different.

By the end of the first week, Ori had given up on trying to hide, and he went willingly to the princess.

She rarely spoke to him, unless it had something to do with his job as her... he didn’t know what he was, to be honest. Her personal scribe, her assistant, maybe.

Her toy-boy, he knew some people said, the same who’d called him Thorin’s whore. Even with what little free time Dis allowed him, and how rarely he went out of the house when he had these moments of freedom, he couldn’t ignore the gossip about him. People called him lucky, and clever. They said after brother had died, he’d managed to seduce the sister, and to still secure himself a good position after all. As if he needed a position. As if he didn’t have more gold than any of these dwarves had seen in their entire lives. But he let them talk.

He didn’t care.

He knew why Dis kept him around: so that he’d properly write a full account of the quest. She’d grow tired of waiting before him. He wouldn’t write this. It had been for Thorin only, no one else, and with his king gone, the story no longer mattered.

Nothing mattered.

Thorin was gone.

Nothing mattered.

* * *

 

Two years had passed since the day Dis had first requested his presence. There were still rumours about what sort of work exactly he did for her, but most dwarves in the mountain had grown tired of that particular piece of gossip, and had started to accept the idea that he really was just her scribe.

He didn’t feel so bad all the time... or maybe he had just grown used to it. Sometimes he even smiled, or laughed. Someone had to, after all. Nori had grown so serious now that he worked for Dain, and Dori... the only moment Dori almost smiled was when there was a letter from the Shire, but these were very rare. Not that Dori complained, of course. Brave old Dori, always ready to endure...

It was a family trait, according to the lady Dis.

The lady Dis who put more and more trust in him, leaving him in charge of a number of reports, sending him to see how things were in the mines or asking him to give messages to noble dwarves that she personally couldn’t stand, knowing that Ori was good at being polite and pretending not to understand threats and hints. They made a good enough team, he thought. There was no affection between them, but they worked well together, and they’d managed to make sure that the miners were well treated in all of Erebor, and not just the miners but all the poorer exiles, those who hadn’t managed to profit in Ered Luin... and there had been quite a few of them.

They made a good team.

Which was why it felt like such a betrayal when one morning Ori came to her rooms to find the princess wasn’t there, but there was a book on his desk.

His book.

Thorin’s book.

Ori had hoped that Dis had forgotten that she wanted him to write about the quest, or that she had changed her mind. What could he say that hadn’t already been said, after all? And yet, there were his notes, as a silent reminder that his job wasn’t over, not yet, not until he’d accomplished what Thorin had chosen him for.

His first move was to grab the book and run to the fireplace, ready to burn it, once and for all, knowing that this time no one would save the blasted thing.  He raised his arm, ready to throw the book in the flames... then lowered it, and hold it tightly against his chest.

This wasn’t his book.

It was Thorin’s book.

He had no right to destroy it. It wasn’t his. It was Thorin’s.

He still didn’t want to write the story, but the book... the book had to stay. It wasn’t his. It was Thorin’s... and Fili’s and Kili’s too, he supposed. It was three dead dwarves’ book.

How he went from deciding not to destroy it to suddenly wanting to read the thing, Ori wasn’t sure. But next thing he knew he was sitting in one of Dis’s beautiful armchairs, devouring page after page of notes that felt as if they had been written by a stranger. It was like a story that had happened to another, a pretty tale full of fascinating characters. It wasn’t his life. It had never been his life. He had to tell himself this wasn’t his life, because thinking just for one second about how real all of this had been, it would... hurt too much.

He was still reading by the time Dis came in at last. She looked at him, but didn’t say anything. He was grateful for it. He was reaching the parts about Laketown, and it was taking all of his strength to pretend that hadn’t been real.

Once he was done reading, he put the book back where he had found it and left. Dis didn’t try to stop him. He wasn’t sure what he had done if she had. Broken into tears probably, since that was what he did as soon as he was alone.

When he came back the following morning, the book wasn’t there, and they didn’t talk about it.

* * *

 

Two months after that, he asked Dis to see the book again. He read it, and added a few note here and there. He had learned things in the last few years to explain a few points he had not understood earlier, after all.

* * *

 

He’d been working for Dis for three years when he finally, properly started writing his telling of the quest for Erebor.

Since he could not devote himself to it entirely, the book took a while to be finished, but finished it was.

“You’re now free from my service,” Dis told him when he gave her the finale version.

“I do not wish to be, my lady,” he answered with a smile. “If you will allow it, I would like to continue helping you. I served your brother... even with things being what they were, I served him before all else, and I would have served your sons too, if it had come to it. Please allow me to serve you instead.”

Dis smiled at him, more kindly than she had ever done before.

“Very well, master Ori. Then we shall continue to scandalize and annoy the nobles and Guildmasters of Erebor, until they learn to be wise...”

“...and because it is so much fun,” Ori finished for her, smiling back.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not write later about Ori going to Moria... but for now, let's pretend Dis and him are just having fun pissing off all sorts of important people


End file.
